"traced" poems
Traced eyes with circles,
and a headache, he forgot
all he used to be
replacing nights with
sobbing, he took all he had
and soon went missing
A backpack full of
his blighted heart, taking the
corruption away
Scattering it on
the beach, the tides replaced them
with nothing but shells-
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
I simply love blue.
It's the sea we plunge into.
The constellations absently traced.
Tremors of ice around my waist.
Hushed oblivion anchored in sleep.
Fragile tears we openly weep.
Canvas skies with crystal cotton.
Oceanic tides that calm and soften.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
I traced the texture of your words
Like my heart was blind
And your voice was braille
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 1:02 PM UTC
Your tongue; our amazing grace.
Miss the taste of your taste.
Your lips; my fingers traced.
They must have been laced.
Racing heart; change of pace.
Beautiful mind hope our secret(s) safe.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
I was going to write you something
that embodied our love, some
infinitesimal prose about
your name click-clacking off of
my tongue or your eyes
when you're smiling.
I was going to answer all of
the questions that are silently ticking
inside your mind and scrawl
perfect prepositions across the page
so that your hands might
falter as they traced the corners.
I wanted to tell you about
the tug of your presence or
the way that your fingerprints
feel against mine,
but I'm writing this instead,
listing off the beauty that I feel
seeping into my skin and
it doesn't really make sense
but that's just the way it falls
onto the paper, bit by bit.
sad things, serenade me.
I'm only romanticizing
the madness of it all.
I never asked to be
a ******* poet.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds
And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud
Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud,
And never as yet a tinct of spring
Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling;
O vespering bird, how do you know,
How do you know?
How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?
15.9k
Are you struck with her figure and face?
How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
Is my very particular friend!
How charming she looks — her dark curls
Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
She's my very particular friend!
Then her voice, how divine it appears
While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
I'm her very particular friend!
Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
She's my very particular friend!
Her brother dispatched with a sword,
His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
She's my very particular friend!
All her chance of a portion is lost,
And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
(Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
She's my very particular friend!
That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
She's my very particular friend!
Oh! never have pencil or pen,
A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
She's my very particular friend!
15.3k
My Frankenstein monster
erects in the dense night
a soliloquies of remedies
traced on pasted wall paper
It bids faster as the kites fly
high above the Himalayan
feeding respect to the sun
to radiate its vector rays
It whispers of this world
a spice of colours and patterns
a windy dainty silky road
wrapped with satanic ribbons
As the masses gather on the poles
to dance the mayday festival
the pagan gods shake the monster
their gold merry as the cloud chills
The bonfire embers and trembles
the palates vanish in the ashy wind
the crowds grow in bonded unity
the monster smiles in rhymed terms
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC
maybe you didn’t feel it
when i licked myself
off of your lips.
maybe you didn’t feel it
when i traced the back of
your knees with my fingertips.
maybe you didn’t feel it
when you rolled over in the
morning and saw how well we fit.
i knew it when you
picked the eyelash off my
cheek because it felt like a kiss.
i knew it when you
took the long way home so there’d
be a few less seconds to miss.
i knew it when you
would wake up and leave me because
my heart would contort into a fist-
all so i’d never have to let you go.
but you would never know.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
I am a mother, a wife
A friend, a teacher
I seek happiness
I love deep
Only souls not faces
Always loyal
I don't judge
I love to help
I see good in everyone
Which makes me naive at times
I am open to all
Hoping for a world
Where everyone fits
Labels don't exist
I latch to rules
Anxiety demands
I suffer from OCD
Always chasing order
Shackled by disinfection
I am comfortable in control
Leading the way
I seek to inspire
I believe in others
I am honest with my feelings
I value experience
And learn from them
I reflect on my day
Always trying to improve
I search for meaning in conversations
Enjoy learning new things daily
I play sports
Love music
Enjoy Art
Express myself in writes
Fascinated by abstracts
Reading words to gain insight
The grace in movement
The beauty in visual artistry
I love to re-discover nature
The acoustics of birds
Waterfalls and rain
Kissing falling snow
Connecting with our majestic sky
I love the stillness
Each morning brings
The dew sleeping in the emerald
The lacquered canvas
Of quiet lakes
Motionless
In something so vast
Yoga is my philosophy
A healthy
Body
Mind
And spirit
My destination is
The pursuit of enlightenment
In my life's pain
I am coming out of the spiral
Enjoying my journey
Seeing straight
Swimming the unalome
I feed my soul
Hoping IT can lead me
Leaving my ego in my wake
I remain unfinished
I continue to wear masks
Sometimes to hide
As I fear rejection
Still..
As happy as I seem
As lovely as I am
My soul has a shadow
Hidden inside
My essence traced
By shaded light
I am a survivor
Broken in places
Finally accepting my true self
Jl 2016
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
I traced your quivering lips
with my shaky fingers
& we stood
speechless,
teary eye to teary eye,
& realizing it was ending,
we parted
for the last time,
turned
& walked away
on our love.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 7:05 AM UTC
I woke up one day
The end of my bed,
A jewelry box
Pink as the ribbon they used to represent her;
I traced over her disappearing fingertips
The rim of the box clicked open,
It clicked to life
The music tickling my ears;
A plastic ballerina stands as a guardian
Hands in the air
Waiting for someone to join her,
Twirling around like my eyes that follow her,
To see we are all alone
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
.
"I shall welcome the majesty of the ******
Loam, the honour of being the daisies mantle
The goodly fortune to sleep under the golden
Stars who birthed my dream of grace and light.
World, ply my ship and sail it to the seas
Of love, poem and song, I was unworthy
Shaper and so, whereby cold fates decree—
Here lies one, whose name is traced in vapour."
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
You were supposed to be a stranger.
We were...
Strangers with a shared kiss.
My brain was washed with alcohol,
With the snippets of memories left.
I forgot your name...
and how we met.
That one fateful night...
You were supposed to stay a stranger
Instead you traced my steps.
Alas! The world is too small for us.
Who would have thought that
you would find me?
You even got my name wrong.
Your description was spot on.
The friend of your friend knew me.
You should have just left it as it is...
A beautiful memory by the beach -
with a stranger.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
Did you know that every time he searched your eyes,
While he pushed deep-
That his emotions passion and lust was equivalent to her?
For every time he traced his finger tip down your spine;
your hands grasped to cover more surface.
Cotton.
Polyester.
Satin,
as you braced for smooth impact.
He only understood the similar love language he shared with her.
With you-
craving of possessive feelings,
Proving your worth to him
asking for time via a clock whom hands couldn’t unwind
Separate.
Disintegrate.
A Minaj a trios-
unbeknownst to you existed,
Co-starring you
For every soft connection within each curve...
Your identity was a reflection of another.
For all the things you projected
Marriage.
House.
Dog.
Children.
His capability of taking you to ecstasy,
Lead you here
Had you any clue?
This little game called life,
Excluded the other woman (you).
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
"heavy breathing/hot breath.
hands touching/warm skin.
why did i do this."
i had to stand on the tips of my toes
just so i could reach your lips.
arms encircled me, keeping me safe.
this can't be real.
"we looked into each other's eyes
and her breath still lingers on my skin.
i shiver.
she clung to me tightly, as if she was scared."
i have ruined the best thing that has happened to me.
"she had to tell everyone of this.
this was meant for us only.
why share this moment with the world.
why did i let her do this.
she's already happy, playing me like a game of cards.
one mistake turned into regret."
i'm so sorry.
this secret was something i couldn't bear.
carrying the weight like atlas.
your body was my map that my finger traced,
leading me to a secret location.
i have revealed its existence.
"those eyes that i thought were innocent
have become guilty (i was betrayed).
how could i live with this."
i wanted you.
"she wanted to use me."
i'm sorry.
"she'll say sorry as much as she wants; she'll pay."
'one mistake turned into regret.'
"keep apologizing, that isn't the price i want."
i'd do anything.
"she wouldn't do anything.
she's got other guys.
****
find someone you actually love."
but you're the one i want.
"i might as well end it here/there's no reason to live."
there are plenty of reasons.
"i don't see her as a reason."
i can still feel your breath on me.
as i cry at the little reminders of you.
when it's night, i wish you were next to me.
but who would want to be with me.
i'm a spoiled, selfish, lying girl.
"i want out."
no, i want out.
"she has ruined me."
just give me a second chance.
"this was supposed to be our moment, not the world's.
what happened wasn't us."
but what if it's us.
what if it's us and only us.
"i know i hurt her, but she also hurt me.
i can't pretend this didn't happen.
pretending would let her off the hook.
she needs to know."
then let's make a promise to us.
let's start over
and not pretend.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
Shopping outfashioned hunting and gathering,
Processed beats fresh,
Groceries replaced fruit trees,
Malls superceded forests,
Churches outnumbered temples,
Countries dissolved to territories,
Places devolved to areas,
Paths broke down into highways,
Commodity converted to currency,
Laborers submit to machinery,
Masters engage in humbug,
Apprentices reduced to students,
Knowledge downgraded to education,
And education is deducted to a show of grades,
While schools are the stages,
And the corporate world is the bigger runway,
With work slumped to employment,
Wisdom demoted to profession,
Where in jobs are the only future,
Careers are the only success,
Clicking and pressing buttons are skills,
Computers are correspondent to brains,
Information refers to news reports,
Intelligence means up-to-dateness,
Browsing is preferable to reading,
Studying is in demand more than learning,
Viewing things flashed on screens yields awareness,
Transportation is to traveling,
As buying is to the three basic needs,
And needs embody worldly possessions,
Worldly possessions define happiness,
Happiness is due to selfishness,
Selfishness is traced to the lack of love,
The lack of love draws from the lack of faith,
Because faith stands for religion,
And religion stands for membership,
Where politicians are the gods,
Celebrities are the preachers,
And the preachers are the enemies,
While networking is equal to friendship,
And connection equates to communication,
Experiences require photos,
Memories necessitate uploading,
Souvenirs can be downloaded,
Smartphones are substitute to pets,
Gadgets are toys,
Holding controllers is playing,
Watching TV is exploring the great outdoors,
Internet is recreation,
And technology is a way of life;
While humans are scientists,
Nature is a guinea pig,
And the earth is a laboratory,
Where prices are misidentified for worth,
Processes are miscalculated as progress,
Impoverishment is confused with improvement,
And getting more is mistaken as getting better;
And then we wonder why
Homes have become houses,
Family members have become boarders,
Nations are separate species
Composed of tired and hungry citizens,
Children are monsters
Who are biochemically rascals,
Teenagers are zombies
Whose adventures lead to delinquency,
Adults are robots
Who just clang when touched,
And life is not so simple
As how it is said to be.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 5:40 AM UTC
a piece of art you are
in your worn out sleeves
and heart shaped eyes
laid out in a bed of cherries
and a field of tulips to share with me
your ocean view windows
that streak the blue sea
and your sheer white pearls
that melt onto me
like chocolate fondue
warm and sweet;
you are the taste, the mouthful
of words that sit on my tongue
get along with your truffle kisses
and your red wine lips
begging for the chateau
to soak in the void
and with a mind shining thought
you traced my back
with the stem of a flower
that went on and on
for the next half hour
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
He held my hand today in the most delicate way,
as if my fingers resembled flower petals and my
palm reenacted butterfly wings. My hand felt
fragile in his grip, which mimicked my feelings
towards him because his heart did not belong
in the spaces between my touch - his heart
belonged in something as light as air; something
as delicate as cotton. And my heart was tattered
with thorns, assured to shred his into pieces. All
the more treacherous, he traced my fingers be
tween my mittens, and it still felt like fabric -
contrary to your inevitable static. And that is
when I knew that even though he did everything
right, he made it that much worse. As much as he
tried, my frost-coated lips challenged the warmth
in his voice, and it wasn't me he needed. It was I
that needeth not deserve him.
gd
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
Balcony Life:
Sometimes I just watched outside, and it was a glorious day.
Children actually played. Groups sunbathed and basked in beer
Ice-cream vans were heard not far from here
Above a plane heading somewhere etched its mark
traced in nothing but just plain blue sky,
for miles, as far as the eyes could see.
Up the motorway, the sun ignites on speeding sunroofs
Toward the Campsie Fells set in a haze of bottle green
The white trickle of yesterdays snow cut like some dyslexic ancient symbol
A place for misspent youth and baking trays on icy days
A hot cheap brand coffee in a chipped petrol-token mug
Perched on weathered wrought iron painted brown like last year
Meant so much in that moment grasped and shaped like glass with glee
I remember that there is life in this here estate sometimes
Watching as you do,
from your own slice of life on your patch of balcony
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:24 AM UTC
I trace the memories kept behind like fingerprints.
The love we had is now crushed and swept away by a wave of
our indolence and insanity.
I go back to the time of sadness,
Because it was the sadness of her eyes the made me
happy
happy
happy
and somewhat sane…
All I have left are the mental photographs of what happened
and of wanting what could have been. I leave now with all the
things that I traced—things that can never be erased
like fingerprints that never
ever had changed.
I sit here alone in this disease-ridden couch, with my
disease-ridden hope. And I will memorize your eyes,
blinking to the rhythm of you heartbeat, dancing in a starlit daydream—as
I am wishing of a memory where you gave me
everything you had
and where I offered you the pieces that were left
of me.
I kept all memories of you in a heart-shaped box,
where it is slowly crumbling as time goes by.
I kept all your secrets,
your playbook,
your cards,
your broken cassettes and cigarettes
our now and always,
your sad eyes and the happiness you had
and which made me smile again.
So maybe fingerprints and memories share a common thing. They say
that “good things happen to those who wait”, I’d say keep on waiting,
******** I have been waiting, and still all I’ve traced is
the measurements of my
indolence and insanity. So yeah, keep on waiting.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
My dear Icarus,
Have you brought tales of gold for me?
You-- the master of self,
The one who held his own thread and shears.
Don't share of how hard you beat your wings
But how the air beat against your brow.
Don't echo your father's faded cries
But sing the songs of the Aegean sea--
Sing them only for me!
My sweet Icarus,
Is the world as grand as the travelers say?
Are crumbling maps and hand-spun tales nothing to compare?
I've read of Sicily, where your father rests his mourning head.
I've traced its rivers as they curved against my torn papyrus.
Sicily, the land of Aetna.
Oh, to watch the land shake at the beckoning of her call
(Oh, to fly free of these labyrinth walls)!
My darling Icarus,
Tell me-- is life better above the blanket of Grecian blue?
Is it better than what the Fates designed?
Is it better than what I hold today
(please, let it be more than today)?
My beloved Icarus,
Will you give me your wings--
The mingling of feather, wax, and dreams.
Will you give me your wings and
Your will to yearn higher and higher
So that I too can reach the city of gold.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
This city makes me miss you.
And I would pretend to be surprised,
but the ceilings in cities are always too high
and my thoughts tend to wander.
(For the record, I am less than impressed
that they found their way back to you.)
Last night, I swear you were waiting for me to fall asleep
to climb into the rafters, and sneak into my dreams.
I woke up feeling haunted and exhausted.
Now you've been following me all day,
and I'm tired of looking over my shoulder.
Kissing him makes me remember the taste of your bitter coffee breath.
His kind eyes contrast the complex hurt yours used to reflect.
His simple, level-headed ways make me recall all
of the circles our troubled words used to spin,
the endless loops we were always trapped within.
My ears keep echoing with the way
you used to chatter nervously in your sleep.
And I can almost still smell your apartment
with the candles struggling to mask damp laundry,
unwashed dishes, the smell of sweat and stale ****
The heaviness collecting inside of my chest resembles
the weight of your body wrapped around my lap
the last time we spoke and the way my fingers
still found their way to your back.
I wonder if you understood the things my fingertips traced
while our words started cornering us into our familiar place.
We were circling the drain anyway,
I was just another silly girl who thought she could save someone.
I'm really sorry
You should be
I miss you
Good.
**You always saw through my ********
it scared the hell out of me.**
*I would have loved you exactly the way you are-unconditionally
You were always enough.*
I love being miserable.
Well, you should probably get used to it.
We were circling the drain anyway...
Our conversations are the world's worst song on repeat
but I felt such smug closure after that night
things finally felt finished or at least mostly complete.
So why now did you feel the need to start the haunting again?
Call off your ******* ghost, B.
I am tired. Its over this time.
This needs to finally end.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
You kissed my stretchmarks one by one
I squirmed until you were done
You traced my appendix scar
I wanted to run, far
You told me I was gorgeous
I felt nauseous
I’m too damaged too believe
compliments I can’t receive
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC